


Skyfire

by ikeracity, Thacmis (orphan_account), thacmis



Series: Unfinished Works [2]
Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragons, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, BAMF Charles, Established Relationship, M/M, Slow Burn, protective Charles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:01:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21602662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikeracity/pseuds/ikeracity, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Thacmis, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thacmis/pseuds/thacmis
Summary: For centuries, the dragon isle of Westchester has remained in isolation, separate from the human mainland, divorced from all the conflicts and troubles of the outside world. Charles has lived a quiet, uneventful life in his cave by the coast--until three months ago, when a Genoshan knight rowed across the sea and landed on his beach. Sir Erik Lehnsherr is on a mission to petition the dragons for aid in defeating a powerful enemy: Sebastian Shaw, ruthless conqueror of the north. But despite Charles's help, the Westcastrian Council refuses to send aid. Now, on the eve of war, Erik leaves Westchester for the last time and rides north to join the desperate defense against Shaw's forces.But Charles has fallen deeply in love with him, and it goes against his very nature as a dragon to abandon what he loves most. So, despite the Council's resolution not to interfere, and despite the fact that he's never before left home, Charles embarks on a journey northward to find Erik again and see him safe, whatever it takes.
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier
Series: Unfinished Works [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1296968
Comments: 16
Kudos: 57





	1. ONE

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thacmis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thacmis/gifts).



> I started writing this fic...two years ago wow. It started as a little gift for [thacmis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thacmis/pseuds/thacmis/works) and evolved into this massive, sprawling fic that just wouldn't end. Unfortunately, I took a break from writing this for a little while and ended up never returning to it. It's about 90% done, and part of me still really hopes to wrap it up one day (I really just need to write the final battle and a few other tidying-up scenes). But I figured if I didn't just start posting it, it would just sit on my computer forever. Plus, thacmis's absolutely breathtaking art deserves to be shared. 
> 
> This fic follows [this ficlet](https://thacmis.tumblr.com/post/156817625521/congratulations-on-your-good-news-and-i-hope) I wrote for thacmis (though some minor details have been switched around, namely the fact that "king" became "queen", and the fact that there's actually no Princess Magda for Charles to get jealous over). Please read that first, as it provides some context! 
> 
> Again, before you read this, PLEASE NOTE that this fic is unfinished and may remain that way indefinitely. I'll break it up into chapters so it's not huge and unmanageable. As of now, it's 131k. I'll post a new chapter every few days until it's all up. 
> 
> I dearly hope you guys enjoy this one! It's really one of my favorite AUs that I've written, and if nothing else, thacmis's art is to _die_ for.

The night before their last morning together, Charles didn’t sleep. Long after Erik had already dozed off, he stayed awake, gazing at his human. He was so sweet and lovely in Charles’s bed, his body gorgeous and pale against the dark blue of the sheets, his face soft and innocent in sleep. Thoughts of war had plagued them both these last few days, had made dark shadows gather under Erik’s eyes, but now, in sleep, the shadows receded, leaving him looking terribly young — and terribly vulnerable. 

A voice in Charles’s head whispered insidiously at him to lock down the entrance to his cave, to keep Erik here forever, safe from war and disease and whatever else might try to touch him. There was enough food and water here to keep a human healthy and alive for years, and whatever else Erik might require, Charles could find. Without much difficulty, he could keep Erik in this cave for the rest of his life. Protected. Cherished. 

It was an old dragon instinct, perhaps the oldest: _protect what is yours_. But Charles could no more act on it than Erik could manifest wings and fly. Erik would hate him for it, hate him every second until the day he died or until Charles let him go, and that idea sickened Charles more than the thought of war did. 

So he would have to let him go. It was an enormous, frightening thought. Dragons did not suffer losses from their hoards lightly, and though Erik was a man, not a possession, Charles still loved him as fiercely as he loved anything he had ever called his own — _more_ fiercely, in fact. It wasn’t in a dragon’s nature to let go of things willingly, and Charles wasn’t sure he knew how to. He wasn’t sure he could bear the loss. 

In his arms, Erik stirred, brows furrowing. Quickly, Charles brushed over his mind, sending reassurance and smoothing away the beginnings of agitation. _Shh,_ he whispered as he ran his fingers over the light muscle of Erik’s shoulder, careful to keep his claws from digging into Erik’s soft skin. _Sleep._

After a moment, Erik relaxed again, sighing softly. Looking down at him, Charles felt his hearts swell, felt fire licking up his throat. He pressed his face against Erik’s neck, so filled with fear and love that he could hardly breathe. 

“How can I keep you?” he whispered against Erik’s throat. “What am I going to do?” 

There was no reply, of course. But after a while, still deeply asleep, Erik turned and nestled closer to him, his chest pressed against Charles’s, his chin against Charles’s cheek. His mind was quiet with vague, pleasant dreams. Closing his eyes, Charles placed a gentle kiss to Erik’s jaw, then sighed. 

Too soon, the first streaks of dawn appeared on the horizon, sending pale light creeping into the bedroom chamber through the small, rounded windows in the rock. His hearts thrumming painfully in his chest, Charles held Erik tighter and watched the sun rise. 

* 

Erik woke up slowly, drifting gradually from hazy dreams to wakefulness. Opening his eyes, he found the space beside him empty, but when he put his hand out, frowning, the sheets were still warm from the heat of Charles’s body. He hadn’t been gone for long. 

Sunlight spilled in through the bare windows, painting the bedroom a soft golden. Though it was a large chamber, Charles had accumulated enough clutter over the years to make the space feel cramped and small. Some of Charles’s hoard in here was unbelievably rare and expensive — even from the bed, Erik could reach out and touch rubies and diamonds, golden staffs and sapphires so large a king would weep to see them. And yet, other things were near-worthless, collected here merely because Charles had found them diverting or beautiful in their own way: a rusted and broken metal clock, several crude wooden carvings of owls, a gaudy plate badly decorated with silver trimming. 

Lying there in Charles’s bed in the center of Charles’s hoard, Erik felt…rare. Precious. Owned, but not in the way the queen owned him, and not in the way a master owned his servant. He was owned in the way of the heart, which felt realer and more complete than any other manner of ownership he knew. 

Sometimes he thought he ought to be frightened to be claimed like this by a dragon. They were notoriously possessive creatures, prone to jealousy and even violence when it came to what they considered theirs. But it wasn’t as if Charles had seized Erik from a tower and flown him to his cave to be kept as a prisoner. Those were the sort of stories parents told their children to force them to behave — _be kind and obedient, else a dragon will snatch you! —_ but nothing could have been further from the truth. Erik had come to Charles. In some way, Erik owned him just as thoroughly in return. 

Light footfalls in the hallway outside pulled Erik’s attention to the doorway. He had just pushed himself up onto his elbows when Charles appeared, carrying an assorted tray of biscuits, meats, and fruits. 

“I thought I felt you wake,” Charles said, smiling. He was barefoot and dressed in nothing but a sheer shift that only just managed to cover his thighs. Bare as he was, his dragon nature was obvious: small blue scales scattered across his arms and shoulders, down his thighs to his calves, shimmering when he moved. His fingers ended in claws sharp enough to scratch steel, and his ears, peeking out from the unruly curls of his hair, drew up to a tapered point. But it was his eyes that were most inhuman: too brilliantly blue to be natural, uncannily keen, with pupils that dilated and contracted like a cat’s. 

Once when Erik was a boy, a dragon had come to Hammer Bay. Later Erik would learn that she was an ambassador from Westchester, come to visit with the queen, but at the time, she had seemed like a mirage, a trick his eyes were playing on him. She had walked down the main boulevard with no entourage, no fanfare, and yet everyone in sight had stopped dead to stare. Out of the corner of Erik’s eye, she seemed human, but when he looked closer, he had seen the delicate green scales running up the backs of her hands, the slits of her emerald eyes. No one spoke as she passed. They were frozen in shock and fear. But as soon as she was gone, the whispers began: _A hideous, godless creature — terrifying —_ _repulsive and unsightly_ — _monstrous —_

Erik had recoiled, too, frightened. And now here he was fifteen years later, lounging in a dragon’s bed, unabashedly admiring the figure of its owner. 

Setting the tray on the bed, Charles gave him that softly amused smile that meant he’d been listening in on Erik’s thoughts. “Not so monstrous, am I?” 

“No.” Ignoring the tray, Erik reached for Charles, who quite willingly settled in his lap. Dragging Charles close to his chest, Erik kissed the hollow of Charles’s throat, nosing at the soft skin that ran into scales. “You’re breathtaking.” 

“Oh, darling,” Charles sighed, running his fingers carefully through Erik’s hair. “Don’t say things like that.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because that makes me want to keep you.” 

Neither of them spoke for a long couple of minutes, sobered by the knowledge that Erik was leaving in a matter of hours. Charles’s worry spilled through the air around them like an invisible fog, cloying and heavy. For the better part of the last week, he’d kept his anxiety over Erik’s imminent departure well-hidden, but last night and this morning, he seemed incapable of controlling it. 

Leaning his cheek against Charles’s hair, Erik searched for something to say that wouldn’t sound like false reassurance. But what was there to say? He was riding to war against an empire far vaster and more powerful than his queen’s, riding, perhaps, to his death. Charles knew the odds — there was no deceiving him there. And there would be no dissuading Erik from going either — the queen had saved Erik’s life once, had given him shelter and training and purpose. Erik owed her. 

“You owe her even your life?” Charles asked softly, though he knew the answer already. 

“You know I do.” 

“You humans and your honor.” 

Erik snorted. “You’re one to speak. You dragons and your Treaties and your rules and traditions.” 

“We are a very long-lived species,” Charles replied, “and we like structure.” He curled even closer to Erik, his head nestled at the crook of Erik’s shoulder. “Perhaps sometimes we like it too much.” 

Charles radiated heat like a furnace, and in the warm morning, it was almost uncomfortable to hold him too close. Still, Erik rested his chin on top of Charles’s head, unwilling to let him go for even a second. He wanted to savor every moment until he had to leave. 

“I’m sorry,” Charles said eventually. “I’m sorry I couldn’t convince the Council to lend you aid. They may come around, but it will take time.” He huffed in frustration, breath blowing hot against Erik’s bare collarbone. “We dragons move very slowly when there’s a decision like this to be made.” 

“It isn’t your fault. It was a longshot anyway.” Even the queen hadn’t expressed much hope for success when she’d sent Erik to Westchester. But they had had to try, and even if Erik hadn’t won any support for the war, at least he’d gotten this: a handful of months with Charles, these last few sweet days. That was better than nothing. 

After a few minutes, Charles stirred and reached for the tray. “You should eat. You have a long day ahead of you.” 

It wasn’t a long journey back to the mainland, especially not in fair weather like this, but the queen _was_ planning on reaching the Outermark by dusk and that was a two-day journey at least. The thought of so much travel made Erik want to curl back up in bed and never leave, but instead he made himself straighten and look over the tray Charles had brought. 

As usual, it was an odd assortment: honeyed biscuits, small chunks of marefruit inexpertly sliced, a generous heaping of sliced sausage, apples cut in four parts, a small tin of syrupy peaches. 

Charles studied Erik’s expression closely. “Did I get it right?” 

“Well…” 

Charles frowned. “Don’t lie to spare my feelings.” 

“Well, none of this is typical breakfast food,” Erik said wryly, “except perhaps the apple. Honeyed biscuits are usually served for lunch or supper, and with chicken, not sausage. Peaches are for dessert, normally after supper. And as for marefruit…” Erik picked at a piece in amusement. “Usually we cut the rind off.” 

Charles groaned and climbed off Erik’s lap, blushing. The fact that he _could_ blush still amused and delighted Erik to no end. “I really ought to know these things by now. Here, I’ll fix you a proper breakfast.” 

Erik caught his wrist. “No, leave it. It’s fine.” 

“You really should eat,” Charles said disapprovingly. But instead of insisting, he curled back up against Erik’s side, cat-like, and when Erik stroked a hand through his hair, he let out a low, rumbling purr. 

For a long while, they sat quietly together and watched the light in the room slowly shift as the sun climbed. Charles was warm and sleepy by his side, his contentment settling over Erik like a blanket, his arms hot and tight around Erik’s waist. This, Erik thought, was peace — or as close to it as he had ever come. 

“So you ride north,” Charles said softly. “What then?” 

“The queen’s forces will muster at Outermark. Do you know it?” 

“Yes. I’ve read of it.” 

Sometimes it still baffled Erik that Charles — and many of the other dragons on this island, for that matter — had lived so long without setting foot on the mainland. Westchester was a vast island, to be sure, but it was still only an island. Still, given the long-standing Treaty and the Council’s policy of isolation and neutrality, Erik supposed it made sense that few dragons ever ventured even the short distance over the sea to Genosha, and beyond. Besides, according to Charles, dragons had little inclination to wander far from home anyway. 

That meant that what Charles knew about the mainland, he knew from his books. Erik thought it was kind of charming that a creature as old as Charles could still be so naïve about some parts of the world. 

“Well,” he continued, “we’ll be mustering there.” 

“Many of you?” 

“As many as can be summoned, with such little notice.” Erik grimaced. The queen had sent couriers out as soon as news of Shaw’s movements had broken, and still, they had so little time. The speed of Shaw’s maneuvers was stunning. Just half a month ago, their diplomats had been close to finding common ground, enough to maintain a delicate peace. Then, abruptly, the Genoshan delegation had been sent unceremoniously home, with the implication that they were lucky to be alive, and only days later, Shaw had begun to move his army. 

Even now they didn’t know what had changed, or why everything had crumbled so quickly. All they could be sure of was that an attack was coming, and if they didn’t ride out to meet it immediately, they’d be lost. 

Charles brushed his thumb along Erik’s hip. It was only a light touch, but Erik was conscious of how easily Charles could bruise him if he exerted only a little effort. He had the urge to push up into Charles’s hand, to force him to leave a mark. 

Charles kissed Erik’s shoulder. “I can give you something better to remember me by.” 

“Oh?” 

“I was thinking about it last night.” He pulled away, leaving Erik’s side cold. “About what to give you before you left.” 

Erik sat up a little straighter. A dragon giving gifts was a rare thing. “You want to give me something?” 

“Yes. From my hoard.” Charles paused. “If that’s alright.” 

“Yeah, of course it’s — I mean, you don’t have to.” 

“Well, I know that,” Charles said, smiling. “But I want to. Wait here a moment.” 

He disappeared out the doorway. After a couple of minutes, Erik climbed out of bed, stretched his legs, and bent to peer out of the nearest window. They were on the east side of the island, slightly hidden from the wide sea by way of a small cove that eventually opened up into the sizeable cave that made up Charles’s home. From the window, Erik could see the beach, an expanse of untouched white sand running into bright, glittering blue water. Several seagulls wheeled overhead, honking, and in the distance, a school of fish leaped from the sea for an instant, then disappeared again. Without much wind to stir it, the surf was largely calm this morning, rippling gently against the sand. A little ways away, a great gray cliff jutted out toward the sea, forming the southern border of the beach. 

It was a perfect, enclosed paradise. Erik could live here forever. 

With a sigh, he turned away from the window and bent to retrieve his clothes from the floor. As wild and frantic as they had been last night, everything was in surprisingly good shape. The only damage sustained was a small tear in his trousers, which Erik inspected with a grin. Charles had ripped it on accident in his haste to undress Erik. He’d stared down at his claw stuck in the fabric with almost comical horror, then spent several seconds inspecting Erik’s legs to make sure he hadn’t cut him anywhere. It was only after Erik had sucked on the sensitive tips of Charles’s ears that Charles had been convinced to carry on. 

Those were the memories that would keep him warm when they rode north. Knowing this, he breathed deeply and tried to memorize everything about this room: the clutter of Charles’s hoard, the way sunlight tilted in through the windows, the soft bed that smelled faintly of sea salt and the odd, smoky scent of dragons. 

He wondered how many people Charles had ever allowed back here, in the most private places of his home. Probably very few, if any. Erik was inordinately pleased by the thought. 

He was just lacing up his shirt when Charles returned, carrying a small bag in his hands. When he saw that Erik had gotten dressed, he made a displeased noise and huffed, a bit of smoke curling from his nostrils. “You’re really too beautiful to cover up, you know.” 

“I know.” Erik grinned. “You’ve told me that enough times over the last few days.” He ran his eyes over Charles, who was still only minimally dressed and utterly unconcerned about it. “Unfortunately, we don’t all get to live in a cave and prance around naked all day.” 

“I hardly _prance around naked all day._ ” 

“You’re prancing around nearly naked now.” 

Charles smirked. “That’s because you’re watching.” He crossed the room over to Erik’s side and started to fuss at Erik’s appearance, tugging his collar straight, smoothing a hand through Erik’s hair. “At least this way,” he muttered, “no one else gets to see you like I do.” 

“Possessive,” Erik teased. 

“What do you expect? I’m a dragon.” Running a hand down Erik’s arm, Charles caught Erik’s wrist, turned it, and slipped the small bag into his hand. “For you.” 

It was a dark velvet bag, rich and soft. Erik started to open his mouth to say he couldn’t accept something so obviously expensive, but Charles looked so eager and excited that Erik couldn’t bring himself to protest. Tugging open the golden drawstring, he reached into the bag and pulled out its contents. 

At first he thought it was a stone. Neatly fitting into his hand, it was a flat, thin disc only about half an inch thick, tear-shaped and the same brilliant blue as Charles’s eyes. It was smooth all over and surprisingly warm to the touch, as if it had just been lying next to a fire. It was like nothing Erik had ever seen before. He wasn’t quite sure what it was, but he knew instinctively that it was very precious. 

“What is it?” he asked. 

“A scale,” Charles replied, smiling. “One of my scales, to be exact.” 

“Your — ” Erik stared at him, shocked. “You mean this is a — a dragon scale? _Yours?”_

“Yes.” Charles seemed very pleased by Erik’s reaction. “Do you like it?” 

“ _Like_ it? This is — it’s — ” Erik gaped at him in disbelief. 

Charles laughed delightedly. “This is the first time I’ve ever seen you speechless. Are you really that surprised?” 

After a moment, Erik managed to find his voice. “Of _course_ I am. This is — you’ve just put a king’s ransom in my hand! I can’t accept this.” 

Brows furrowed, Charles frowned. “Why not?” 

“Because,” Erik spluttered. Dragons scales were among the most valuable and most coveted rarities in the world. They were owned by princes and emperors and high lords. Not by _knights_. “Because it’s too much!” 

“Too much?” Charles wrinkled his nose. “Is this one of your strange human sensibilities again?” 

“It’s not one of my _strange human sensibilities_. This is just — ” Erik struggled to find a way to explain it in a way Charles would understand. Sometimes it was so difficult to make him see things from a different perspective, a human perspective. Staring down at the scale in his hand, Erik said finally, “I don’t have anything near as valuable to give to you.” 

Now Charles’s expression cleared. “Oh. I see. Now you feel as if you owe me.” 

“I _will_ owe you, if I take this.” 

“You don’t owe me anything. This is a gift, freely given.” Charles reached out, took Erik’s hand, and curled his fingers around the scale. His eyes were luminous when they met Erik’s. “Please, take it. So you know how much you mean to me.” 

On some level, Erik had already known how much he meant to Charles. From the beginning, Charles had made exceptions for him where another dragon would never have. He had been the only Lord of the Council who had agreed to meet after Erik had sent a letter of petition to all twelve. He had invited Erik into his cave, his home, and had even allowed Erik to see most of his hoard. He had learned how to make Erik’s favorite teas and soups and made every effort to make him feel welcome. And, most importantly, he had listened to Erik’s petitions carefully and thoughtfully, even though both of them had understood that the chances of the Council approving any sort of aid were slim. 

None of this had lined up with what Erik had been warned to expect. He’d been warned that dragons would be territorial. They were suspicious of strangers, especially humans from the mainland. They might even be hostile once they discovered who Erik was and why he had come to their island. But Charles had never been anything but kind and curious. It had taken Erik weeks to realize that Charles was lonely, and that Erik’s presence provided a diversion that Charles had found irresistible. 

It hadn’t taken long after that for them to become friends, and for Erik to start coming to the island more to visit Charles than to try to ply him for support in the coming war. Even before they’d become lovers, Erik could have guessed how irreplaceable Charles found him as a friend, mostly because Charles had few others. 

So yes, on some level, he had been aware of Charles’s regard for him. But this — a beautiful and priceless dragon scale in his hand — was concrete, tangible proof of it, and Erik found himself at a complete loss. 

“Darling,” Charles said, smiling, “your hesitation is adorable but unnecessary. Take it, please. I have plenty of others.” 

“You really want me to have this.” 

“Yes.” 

“I’m…” Erik paused, searching for a show of thanks that would be proper for the enormity of this gift. But he wasn’t any sort of poet or bard. Pretty words were not his forte. The only thing he could muster was, “Thank you. I’m…I’m honored.” 

Charles smiled. “It’ll keep you warm, if you need it. And I hope it will make you think of me, from time to time.” 

“I’ll be thinking of you all the time,” Erik replied. “Scale or no scale.” 

Charles’s smile faded. “I’ll be thinking of you, too,” he said softly, stepping forward to wrap his arms around Erik’s waist and lean his head against Erik’s shoulder. “Every day. I’m going to miss you terribly.” 

Erik hugged him tight, burying his nose in the hair above Charles’s ear. “I’ll miss you, too. And I’m going to come back. I will.” 

He could feel Charles’s hearts, both of them, thrumming hard against his chest. “You had better,” Charles murmured, his voice muffled against Erik’s shirt. “Be safe, Erik.” 

Not long after that, Erik set out. He was already nearly late; the sun was high in the sky and growing inexorably hotter. He and Charles stole brief, frantic kisses on the beach before Erik reluctantly tore himself away and pushed his boat out into the tide. 

The sea took him out quickly. When Erik looked back, Charles was standing on the surf, barefoot, watching him go. They were too far apart to call out to each other anymore, especially with the wind picking up. Erik just lifted his hand and waved, and in the distance, Charles did the same. 

Soon enough, Westchester had dwindled to a dark line, and Genosha loomed larger and larger in front of him, growing out of the horizon. As he neared the coast of his own country, Erik counted nearly two dozen fishing boats taking advantage of the good weather, bobbing lightly on the waves as their occupants lowered rods and nets. The fishers knew him well from his habitual visits to Westchester and called out lazy greetings to him as he passed. 

How many would still be here in the coming months? he wondered. Would the war be over by then? Would life here continue as it always had? Or would the worst come to pass, as the queen feared it would? 

“Ho!” called Thale as Erik came up to the dock. “I was expecting you back nearly an hour ago. You’re riding with the queen, aren’t you?” 

“I am.” Erik tossed him the boat’s lead and steadied himself as Thale pulled the boat right up to the dock. Once it was moored, Erik hopped out, pulled a silver coin out of his pocket, and pressed it into the fisherman’s hand. “Thank you for lending me your boat these past weeks. It served me well.” 

Thale chuckled. “She’s an old thing, but she’s seaworthy still. It was nice doing business.” 

The sun had reached its peak by the time Erik retrieved his horse from the town stables and swung up onto her back. For a moment, he turned back to look across the sea to where Westchester was, a smudge against the horizon. He touched the dragon scale tucked into his shirt, warming the skin above his heart, and thought of returning down this road again someday, hopefully someday soon. 

Then he pulled his horse around and rode for the city. 

* 

That night, Charles lay awake again, unable to sleep. Now that he knew what it was like to share his bed with another person, it was impossible to feel anything but lonely in the vast expanse of cold sheets and blankets. He couldn’t stop himself from wondering where Erik was now, wondering if he was alright, if he was sleeping, if he was scared. Charles was scared, and he wasn’t anywhere near a war. He kept imagining terrible things, the worst things he could think of, all of them happening to Erik while Charles was safely ensconced in his cave, hundreds of miles away. He knew Erik was an adult who could take care of himself, but still… 

Still. 

By the time dawn finally began to creep into the bedroom, Charles had made up his mind. Nervously, he got up and paced for nearly an hour, his thoughts racing. Arrangements would have to be made. The cave sealed off. Transportation found. Precautions taken. He had to call Hank and tell him the plan. He trusted Hank above all others to guard Charles’s possessions while he was gone, to keep his hoard safe. 

Carefully, Charles dressed himself in sensible gray trousers, a white shirt, a heavy coat, and tall, black boots. After a moment of consideration, he added a scarf and gloves, thick ones that would cover his claws. Winter was coming on fast, so he figured it wasn’t strange for him to don a knitted hat that fit down snugly over the tips of his ears. His hair was long enough to cover them usually, but he didn’t want to take any chances. 

When all this was done, he stopped in front of the wardrobe mirror and examined himself. Thankfully Erik had always pointed out when Charles’s choice of attire was odd or unconventional, so Charles had an idea of what was acceptable in human society and what wasn’t. He’d also done a good amount of reading on his own; all his curiosity about the world beyond Westchester was finally paying off. All in all, he thought he looked like a fairly typical human being. Under the layers, any hint of claws or scales were hidden. 

Only his eyes were impossible to mask. Erik had always called them _unnaturally_ blue, which meant that other people would likely notice. Plus, his cat-like pupils would be impossible to miss. 

For a couple of minutes, he frowned at his reflection, considering and discarding several options. The solution, when it came to him, made him groan under his breath. Of course. 

Hank’s cave was only a two-minute flight from the beach. The two of them had their own little corner of the island, miles from the next cave over. Charles’s status as old-blood nobility gave him more territory than most other dragons on the island, and Hank — well, Charles was fond of Hank. When he’d been forced out of his old holding because of what had happened with Raven, Charles had given him a new place to call home. That had earned Charles his undying loyalty and trust. He would help now, if Charles asked him to. 

Tugging off all his clothes again, Charles padded out to the mouth of his cave, tilted his face up, and closed his eyes for a moment, basking in the feeling of the sun against his warm skin. As always, the heat of the day called to him, urged him to snap open his wings and take a lazy circle around the island, up high where the drafts were best for gliding. 

Shifting from his human form to his dragon one was always painful, no matter how many times he’d done it. But with repetition, the pain had become normal, easily forgettable. Now Charles passed through the change with hardly a thought. His wings came first, shooting out rapidly from his shoulders. Then his claws lengthened, became talons, and he fell forward onto all-fours, gasping. His breath turned into a snort as his face elongated into a snout, horns curving up above his ears. The true pain came as his muscles and skin stretched, as scales began to course down his arms and legs and up his neck. But it was only brief pain, there and gone in an instant. Once it was done, Charles rose up off the sand, a dragon once more. 

The whole process took only seconds. In these past weeks with Erik, he’d been shifting more often than ever, so that now it was practically second nature. Still, he wasn’t fond of it, and even though he didn’t mind his human form, as many dragons did, it was a relief to return to his true nature. 

Shaking his head, he bent low, gripped the sand between his claws, then launched himself into the air. 

Flying after spending such a long time in human form was always a little stiff and awkward for the first few seconds. _Should have stretched first_ , Charles thought ruefully as he beat his wings hard, lifting upward with a bit of difficulty. Before long though, his body loosened up and remembered what it was like to have wings, and he leaned into the wind, letting it carry him higher. 

Closing his eyes, he let himself enjoy the rushing air under his wings, the coolness of the sky. He hadn’t flown in days, too busy spending every waking moment with Erik, knowing that their time was soon coming to an end. But he’d missed this, of course — dragons were made first for the sky, not for the ground. Nothing was ever quite as pure as flying. 

After circling for a few lazy minutes, Charles dipped a wingtip and sailed down toward Hank’s cave. As he crossed over the low-lying cliffs by the beach, he reached out with his mind first. It wouldn’t do to startle Hank; even though he was one of the younger and shyer dragons, he could still put up a ferocious fight if someone entered his territory without advance warning. 

_Hank?_

The other dragon was awake — awake and alone and surprised by Charles’s mental touch. _Charles? Are you near?_

_I’m just coming over the cliffs. I need to speak with you._

_Speak with me?_ He could feel Hank’s mind spinning, trying to figure out what on earth would prompt such a visit. _Well — well,_ _alright_ _._

Within the next few seconds, Charles wheeled down over a stretch of trees and came to a small clearing. Wildflowers sprouted hardily across the meadow, despite being often trampled down by Charles or Hank landing or taking flight. Flaring out his wings to slow his descent, Charles touched down lightly in the field and folded his wings up, tossing his head and letting out a snort to announce his arrival. 

Hank’s cave was at the end of the clearing, not easily visible from the air. The entrance was squat and narrow, barely large enough for Charles to squeeze through, let alone a dragon of Hank’s size. But Hank liked the security of it, so he had never dug the entrance out wider. 

Thirty yards from the cave, Charles shifted back into his human form. Going from large to small was always more painful, mostly because it felt more unnatural. Everything _contracted_ at once, and after a few seconds of breathing harshly into the grass, Charles pushed himself up onto his knees, then to his feet, wobbling only slightly. 

Hank was waiting for him at the cave entrance, frowning. He, too, was in his human form. “I wasn’t expecting you today.” 

“I wasn’t expecting to come.” 

Hank held out a cloak. “Your human left today, didn’t he?” 

“Yesterday.” Charles took the cloak and wrapped himself in it, shivering as it rasped over his bare shoulders. His skin was always uncomfortably sensitive after he shifted. “Yesterday morning.” 

“I’m sorry,” Hank said, a bit awkwardly. He glanced away, scratched the back of his head restlessly, then added, “I can get you some other clothes if you want. Something more than that cloak.” 

Charles shook his head. “I won’t be staying long. I came to ask you a favor. Several favors, in fact.” 

“Alright.” 

Hank gestured for Charles to follow him further into the cave. Unlike Charles, Hank kept his living spaces meticulously clean, sequestering his hoard safely away in more easily defensible back rooms. The main receiving room they came to had nothing but furniture in it, and even then it was sparse. They settled on opposite ends of the expansive, plush green couch that sat against the wall. 

After peering at Charles for nearly a full minute, Hank asked finally, “So what do you need from me?” 

Charles took a deep breath, then let it out slowly through his nose. He was really going to do this, wasn’t he? After he enlisted Hank’s help, there would be no turning back. 

“I’m leaving Westchester,” he said after a long pause. “I’m going after Erik.” 

He braced for an immediate, vehement response, but Hank simply sat there and stared blankly at him. No, not blankly — the look he gave Charles was dazed, as if someone had struck him a blow to the head. He blinked slowly once, then twice, then said, very steadily, “You can’t be serious.” 

“I’m perfectly serious. I don’t think I’ve ever been more serious about anything.” 

“You can’t be _serious!”_

“I am,” Charles said, much more calmly than he felt. “And I need your help.” 

Hank stared at him with no little amazement. His thoughts were a maelstrom of shock and disbelief, so chaotic that Charles had to turn away from them, wincing. 

“You — you can’t,” Hank stammered at last, struggling for words. “The Treaty!” 

“I won’t help him.” When Hank shot him a skeptical look, Charles amended, “Not as a dragon, at least.” 

“That’s hardly a significant distinction!” 

“Dragons have meddled in human affairs before,” Charles argued. “Don’t say you haven’t heard it done. As long as I stay in human form, the Council won’t even hear about it. It’ll be as if I’m just another human soldier joining the war.” 

“But you _won’t_ be. Look at you! You couldn’t pass as fully human, not in close quarters. And if the humans find out, the whole Treaty will be on thin ice!” 

“They won’t find out,” Charles said resolutely. “That’s the first favor I need from you. Do you still have that serum? The one you invented for the ambassador?” 

“I — well, yes, I still have it, but it’s not exactly easy, or _pleasant_.” Hank flailed a hand at him. “There’s a reason why the ambassador almost never uses it. And there’s a reason why our kind doesn’t often go to the mainland.” 

“No, our kind doesn’t often go to the mainland because we’re too afraid of our hoards being plundered if we left them unguarded. And because we hate change and new things.” 

“Aren’t you afraid for _your_ hoard?” Hank demanded. 

“I am,” Charles said. The thought of leaving his hoard vulnerable made his skin crawl. But the thought of leaving _Erik_ vulnerable, of sitting safely at home while Erik fought for his life somewhere Charles couldn’t reach — that made Charles sick to his stomach. He could bear the loss of his hoard more easily than he could bear the loss of Erik. 

Hank studied his expression for a long, silent moment, his eyes roving down Charles’s face. Then, shoulders slumping, he sighed. “You’ve already made up your mind, haven’t you?” 

“Yes.” 

“And there’s nothing I can say to convince you otherwise.” 

“No, there isn’t.” 

When he fell silent again, Charles let him have a moment, knowing that this was a great thing to ask of a dragon like Hank, who lived safely within the rules and liked it that way. Charles couldn’t blame him; Hank had broken unspoken laws before and suffered dearly for it. He was warier of transgressions now. 

But there was one thing that could be said of Henry of House McCoy: his loyalty to his friends never faltered. When his thoughts had at last settled, Hank said quietly, “I’ll help you. Wait here.” 

As he disappeared down the hall, Charles bent over and ran his hands through his hair. His hearts pounded against his chest, rapid and unsteady. Part of him wanted desperately for someone to come and shake sense into him, to demand why he was willing to leave everything behind for a human he had only known for a handful of months, only the briefest of times. He had never left Westchester before. All he knew about human society, he knew from reading various books, from the accounts of the few dragons who _had_ visited the mainland, and from Erik. That wasn’t nearly enough to prepare him. This was, without a doubt, the stupidest idea he’d ever had. 

And yet, a greater part of him clamored to leave, to go _now_ . Every minute he wasted here put more distance between him and Erik. He didn’t care if it was stupid or selfish of him to want this, to want _Erik_. He was in love. How many dragons could say that? 

Besides, some part of him had always yearned to go to the mainland. To explore the same places he’d read about countless times in his books. To learn more about the world and see things few dragons ever did. This was his chance. 

Within a few minutes, Hank returned with a small wooden box, hardly larger than a matchbox. “This is the serum,” he said. Opening the box, he revealed two small glass vials, filled to the caps with light blue liquid. “It’s only a small amount. I’ll give you more to pack for the journey.” 

Carefully, Charles lifted one of the vials from the box. “How long will it last?” 

“Five days or so. Any longer than that and you’ll begin to revert back to your current form.” Hank cast a significant look at Charles’s hands. “Claws and all.” 

“We wouldn’t want that,” Charles murmured, peering curiously into the vial. Hank had developed the serum several years ago when Ambassador Heran had complained of the difficulties of negotiating for anything when humans mistrusted her on sight. Charles had helped with preliminary research and with mapping theoretical approaches, though Hank had, in the end, synthesized the serum by himself. Charles had been rather busy at the time, what with his mother’s death and the subsequent battle over her possessions. He’d never gotten the chance to see the serum in action, though he’d always been profoundly curious about it. 

_Well now,_ he thought to himself, _you’re getting your wish._

“One vial at a time then?” he asked. 

Hank nodded. “One vial every five days. It’ll quiet the dragon in you, make you look more human. But be warned, it will also dull your gift.” He tapped his temple demonstratively. “You won’t have this to rely on.” 

Charles swallowed. The prospect of being cut off from his gift frightened him, but he would endure it. If this was the best way to pass undetected among the humans, then he would have to. At least with the serum, he wouldn’t have to worry about hats and gloves and keeping his eyes averted at all times. The loss of his gift, however temporary, was a price he would have to pay. 

“Alright,” he said. 

Hank gestured for him to place the vial back into the box and closed it. “How long do you expect to be gone?” 

After a moment of consideration, Charles answered honestly, “I can’t say. I don’t know what will happen on the mainland. I don’t know what I’ll do when I find Erik. I suppose I’ll have to figure it out on the way.” 

Hank gave him a doubtful look. “You’re sure you’ve thought this through?” 

“I’ve done enough thinking,” Charles told him impatiently. “I’m leaving, Hank. With or without your help.” 

Hank’s expression remained dubious, but he didn’t argue. “I’ll pack enough vials to last you a month at least. Maybe a bit longer if you stretch the doses.” 

“Thank you.” 

“Don’t thank me now,” Hank muttered. “You haven’t experienced the serum yet.” After he handed the box with the vials over to Charles, he added, “You said you had other favors to ask of me?” 

Charles nodded. “I need you to watch over my cave. I’ll be sealing it, but I’ll rest easier if I know you’re keeping an eye on it.” 

“Of course,” Hank said solemnly. He knew the honor of being entrusted with another dragon’s hoard. He would take his duty seriously. 

“And lastly, I want you to tell anyone who asks that I’ve gone hibernating.” 

Hank’s mouth twisted. “They’ll never believe that. You never hibernate.” 

“Well, they won’t know any better unless they go inside my cave, will they?” Charles snorted. “Which you won’t allow.” 

“I suppose…” 

“Look, they can’t know where I’ve gone. The Council would be in outrage. And I’m eccentric enough that they won’t question you too closely.” 

“Alright,” said Hank, though he didn’t seem too happy with the idea. “I’ll tell anyone who asks.” 

“Thank you.” Charles had the sudden, peculiar urge to hug him, but dragons weren’t hugging creatures. Instead, he tapped two fingers to the bridge of his nose, a gesture of respect and gratitude. After a moment, Hank returned it. 

As Charles rose and pulled off the cloak, Hank asked, “You have a way of getting to the mainland?” 

Charles nodded. “I have a boat. I’ll wait until it’s dark and then row over.” 

“You know how to row a boat?” 

“It looks simple enough, doesn’t it? I’ll learn.” 

For a long few moments, Hank simply stood there and studied him closely, his eyes dark with confusion and disbelief. “You’re really doing this,” he said finally, eyebrows lifting. “You mean to leave.” 

“You would do it, wouldn’t you?” Charles asked softly. “If it was Raven.” 

Hank’s mouth twisted. His eyes said enough. 

“Good luck,” he murmured. “Sky and fire be with you.” 

Charles smiled at him and turned to step back out into the clearing. “Goodbye, my friend.” 


	2. TWO

The impact as the boat struck shore nearly jolted Charles from his seat. Even though he’d braced himself, he hadn’t expected the landing to be so rocky. Wary of being spotted and questioned, he’d circled a good distance away from the docks before making for shore. Now he knew why the humans didn’t sail this way: jagged black rocks, some as large as the boat itself, jutted from the sea, nearly invisible in the darkness. He was lucky he could see excellently in the dark, or else he never would have been able to navigate through the treacherous shallows.

As soon as the boat rocked onto shore, Charles heaved himself up and out of it, extremely glad to be back on land. His legs trembled, then gave way, and for a long few minutes, all he could do was sit in the gritty sand and rocks, the surf rushing up over his thighs as he caught his breath. How Erik had stomached sailing to Westchester and back so many times, Charles couldn’t fathom. Once was quite enough.

Eventually, when he was relatively sure he could stand up without falling over, Charles climbed to his feet, fished his pack out of the boat, and hesitated, trying to decide whether or not to pull the boat further ashore to keep it from being washed away by the tide. On the one hand, he would need it to return to Westchester in the future, one day when this war was over and done with. On the other, he was half-sure someone would find the boat and take it if he bothered to pull it ashore. There was no easy way to hide it, not among these bare rocks.

Finally, he decided he couldn’t expend the time or effort to haul the boat safely away from the water, so he left it by the rocks. Perhaps someone would recover it in the morning and make better use of it than he would.

After a moment of assessing his surroundings, he climbed up the rocky slope and out of the small cove. Once he reached the top, the town — Fairpoint, Erik had called it — rose dimly in the distance. This late at night, only a couple of lights still flickered, but it was enough to point Charles in the right direction. Slinging his pack over his shoulder, he began to walk.

The terrain was rough and more difficult than he’d expected, his boots sinking into the sand as he went. He’d never walked for so long in shoes before; in and around his cave, he almost always went barefoot. He didn’t like how the boots constricted around his feet, pressing his toes together and making him clumsy. Several times he stumbled and had to catch himself on his hands and knees, and each time he grew more annoyed and impatient with himself. How did Erik make it look so easy?

By the time he finally reached the town, he was tired, sore, and more than a little hungry. When he looked back, he was a bit amazed by how far he’d come. Though flying the distance would have taken only a few wingbeats and a good wind, Charles felt like he’d been walking for hours. The sea had nearly vanished; only a sliver of it still glimmered far behind him. It was impossible to make out Westchester on the horizon, even with his excellent night vision.

Charles took a breath. This was as far from home as he had ever been. He had to take a moment to absorb the enormity of that fact.

Then he pressed on.

*

Outermark had not seen this many riders in at least four generations. Though it was a relatively large city that sat at the fork of the Rhame River, it was a popular place for merchants and caravans, not soldiers. And yet the crowds that swarmed through the city now were almost exclusively military; a good number of the civilians stayed indoors, wary of being caught up in the commotion.

Most of the army was encamped on the banks of the river just outside the city, but the officers and the royal party were accommodated in the lord governor’s house. As the queen’s Champion, Erik was given quarters, too, as well as a seat at the strategy table.

This was not the first war Erik had seen. When he’d been younger, barely a man, he’d ridden with the queen against the Donnen Revolt in the western highlands. Even though Erik had been hardly seventeen, the queen had saved him a place at the strategy table. She’d been training Erik, helping him learn the ways of war, giving him a purpose. And it had worked: Erik had taken to it like a seal to water, avidly studying old battle maps and tactical manuals, learning to become a master at conducting warfare in his own right. Strategy was a game he excelled at.

But tonight as they sat in planning, he couldn’t focus. All he could think of was Charles — the way he smiled when he caught Erik looking at him, the way he looked painted silver in moonlight, the way he had felt in Erik’s arms, hot and wild and dangerous. Charles’s scale sat warmly against Erik’s heart, hidden underneath his shirt. He wanted to return to the privacy of his room so he could hold the scale against his palm and pretend, just for a few moments, that he was back in Charles’s cave, far away from all of this. 

Dimly, he was aware that the War Council was proceeding around him, without him. On the table, the ranking members of the Council had spread a map of the region and set out the markers representing their positions. Now they all clustered around it, assessing their situation and how best to confront Shaw’s forces.

“We have to make the pass before Shaw and his men do,” said Ororo, pointing at the map. “It’s the only way we’ll be able to hold him for any amount of time.”

Alex nodded. “I agree. We’re outnumbered five to one, but the pass is narrow enough to cut those odds in half at least. And we only need to hold them for three, maybe four weeks at most.”

“Less than that,” Ororo said. “All day I’ve felt storms brewing to the north. Winter is coming early this year.”

The queen smiled tiredly. “That’s the first good news I’ve heard in days. If we can hold them at the pass until it’s snowed in, there’s nothing they’ll be able to do until spring, maybe even summer if luck is with us. That will give us time to prepare.”

“We won’t survive long even with that extra time,” growled General Murray. He was an old, grizzled soldier, long past his physical prime but still as mentally sharp as any of them. “Once the Halleferians make it through the pass, we won’t be able to hold them back. We don’t have the numbers or the resources.”

Alex frowned and braced his hands against the table. “Then we can’t let them through the pass.”

“And how do you suppose we’ll manage to hold them?” Murray demanded, giving him a dark look. It was no secret that he thought Alex was too young and too reckless to be a councilor, even though Alex had proven himself before. “With winter coming on, yes, we have hope. No one can cross the mountains once it’s been snowed over. But after? Once the snow has melted? Nothing we have can hold back Shaw and his armies then.”

Alex met his glare with a fierce scowl of his own. “Why even bother fighting then if you’re planning on rolling over like a kicked dog?”

“How dare you, _boy —_ ”

“ _Enough_.” They both fell silent as the queen pounded her fist against the table, glowering at them. “We have enough battles to fight already without my people snapping at each other’s throats. If you can’t be civil, then leave. Do you understand?” Her dark gaze swept across the table. _“Understand?”_

Both Murray and Alex nodded their assent, glancing sullenly away.

“Good. Now.” The queen exhaled slowly. “You’re both right, to a degree. As it stands now, we won’t be able to hold Hallefere back come spring. But it won’t help us to dwell on it now. We need to focus on defending the pass until winter comes on in earnest. Erik, where do we stand on numbers?” There was a long pause before she repeated more sharply, “Erik?”

Erik, who had been staring blankly at the map, jerked to full attention. “Your Majesty?”

The queen peered closely at him. “Where is your mind tonight? You haven’t said a word since we convened.”

“I…” Erik shook his head and straightened. He’d been thinking of Charles, but he could hardly admit to that. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you alright?”

“Fine.” He could feel his face growing hot under everyone’s stares and hoped the flickering lamps would mask it. “What was the question?”

The queen scrutinized him for a long minute. When Erik had been younger, that keen, knowing gaze had been one of the only things in the world capable of intimidating him. Its effect on Erik hadn’t lessened over time — he felt like a boy again, angry and unsure and faintly embarrassed without knowing why.

His face carefully composed, Erik held her eyes, half-afraid the queen would press, that she would drag Erik’s distractions into the light for everyone to see. But eventually, she merely nodded at the map and said, “Our numbers. Who do we have?”

Relieved, Erik shoved all lingering thoughts of Charles into the back of his mind and cleared his throat. “As of this evening, we have eight banners here, not including our own.”

“That makes how many men?”

“Eight thousand at last count. We’re expecting at least a thousand more come morning.”

“The Prydes?”

“They sent a courier earlier. They’ll be here before noon.”

“Good. And Lord Barris?”

Erik grimaced. “We’ve had no word from him yet.”

The queen muttered a soft curse. “Unreliable bastard. Well, we can’t wait for him. We must ride north tomorrow if we’re to make the pass before Shaw does.”

“We’ll be nine thousand strong at least.”

“And the Halleferians will be fifty thousand strong,” said Braddock. It was the first time she’d spoken all night — while the others had conferred, she’d studied the map, her eyebrows drawn together in concentration. “Here’s a question: can we be sure that the snowfall will keep Shaw and his armies from advancing south? They invaded Yanta four winters ago and won, remember?”

“The Yanti weren’t prepared for a war,” Ororo pointed out. “We are.”

“And they’ve long rejected people like us,” Alex added. He flexed one hand, then rested it against the table again. “People with talents.” His lip curled. “You know what they call us.”

None of them said it, but they all thought it: _tainted._ Erik hated the word.

“Anyway,” Alex continued, “how could they stand against Shaw and his army of talents when they had none? But we have dozens. Hundreds even.”

Murray crossed his arms, his frown so deep it seemed carved into his face. “They say Shaw is talented himself. Powerfully talented.”

“I’ve heard the same rumors,” Braddock said, nodding. “But he’s done well in keeping the nature of his talent a secret.”

Alex’s brows furrowed. “They call him un-killable. They say no blade on earth can touch him.”

Erik had heard the same, but he didn’t believe it. Sebastian Shaw might now be the stuff of legends and nightmares, but in reality, he was only a man, and every man had a weakness. It was only a matter of finding it.

“He is killable,” the queen said firmly. “He can be defeated, and we will prove it.” She tapped her hand gently against the table and leaned back. “Now, it’s late. We should sleep. We will convene again in the morning at ninth hour to count our banners and finalize our plans.” She gave them all a stern look. “Don’t be late.” 

Thus dismissed, they all began to move toward the door. Before Erik could slip out though, the queen called from behind him, “Erik? A word, please.”

Frowning, Erik drew to the side to allow the others to file past, carefully concealing his impatience. He was tired and distracted and he wanted nothing more than a cup of warm wine, his bed, and a quiet night, whatever was left of it. But he folded his hands dutifully behind his back and waited until the last of the councilors had disappeared before saying, “Is there something you need, Your Majesty?”

The queen shook her head. “None of that ‘Your Majesty’ nonsense when we’re alone, Erik. How many times have I told you that?”

“Too many,” Erik conceded. When she gave him a long look, he added, “Peggy.”

She smiled, sank into one of the chairs set near the fire, and gestured to the other. “Come. Sit. How are you?”

After a beat of hesitation, Erik took the proffered seat and shrugged. “Fine.” 

Leaning her chin against her palm, she studied him carefully. “You seem preoccupied. You’ve seemed preoccupied ever since you returned from Westchester.”

“I…” Erik shook his head. “It’s been a long few days, that’s all.”

“Did something happen on the island?”

Did she know? Erik thought suddenly, his face flushing hot. No, she couldn’t know. How could she? No one had been in that cave but Erik and Charles. But…had she guessed, somehow?

“No,” Erik said, as evenly as he could manage. “I petitioned Lord Xavier for aid, and the Council voted not to give it. That was all.”

Peggy raised one sharp eyebrow. “Erik. I’ve known you since you were a boy. I can tell when you’re being less than honest with me.”

Erik resisted the urge to duck his head like a boy who’d received a scolding. Of course she knew when he was lying. For a long time, she’d been the closest thing he had to a mother, and he loved her like one. Unfortunately, that meant she seemed to be able to read his thoughts as easily as Charles did. Maybe even more easily.

“It’s nothing…pertinent,” he muttered.

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

There was no hiding it then. His gut churned nervously. He wasn’t…scared of her knowing. No, he knew Peggy wouldn’t be repulsed by his relationship with Charles, like others would. She was as open-minded a person as he had ever known, and she was less wary of dragons than most people were. That was why she had sent Erik to Westchester in the first place. She had believed there might come a time when dragons and humans could be allies once more.

_Allies_ , though. Not lovers. Erik swallowed hard.

Something in his expression made her eyes soften. “You can tell me anything, Erik. You know that.”

“I know.” Abruptly, he felt completely foolish. What was he afraid of? Peggy had always supported him, even when he’d been an angry, unruly boy who hated everyone and everything, even when he’d first been learning to control his talent and destroyed half the things he touched. This, of all things, wouldn’t change her opinion of him.

“Lord Xavier and I…” he started. Then, after a pause, he amended, “ _Charles_ and I. We were more than friends. He was more than a friend to me.”

He couldn’t bring himself to say more than that. He couldn’t quite look at her face either — he had no idea what he’d find there, and he was afraid of seeing disappointment. Or worse, pity.

For a long, agonizing minute, Peggy said nothing. Erik was hyper-aware of the crackle of the fire, the muffled howl of the wind outside the windows. Her gaze burned against the side of his face, hot as a wild flame.

Finally, when Erik couldn’t bear the silence anymore, he chanced a look at her face. She was staring at him with a look of wonder in her eyes. 

“Well?” he growled, unable to bury the slight edge of defensive anger in his voice.

“Well.” Peggy shook her head, completely unperturbed by his tone. “This is a surprise, is all.”

It wasn’t a judgment at least, nor was it rejection of him. But still, he could see the disbelief in her eyes. He worked his jaw for a moment, then said, “I don’t expect you to understand.”

At that, Peggy gave him a look of such fond exasperation that Erik felt his face heat. “I understand what it’s like to love someone you can’t have,” she said softly. “I understand better than you think.”

_But I did have him_ , Erik wanted to say. _I do have him._ Charles loved him back just as fiercely. It was the war that was going to keep them apart. The war and the bleakness of their circumstances.

Instead, he said, “It’s over now, anyway.”

Peggy raised an eyebrow. “Is it? Because it seems like you’ve carried it with you from Westchester.”

Erik flushed. “I’m sorry. I let myself get distracted. It won’t happen again.”

“Are you sure?” Peggy peered closely at him, her eyes soft and serious. “I remember what it’s like to be in love, Erik. Especially at the beginning. It’s easy to forget your priorities.”

Her tone was gentle, but still, Erik bristled. Did she really think so little of him? Did she think he could so easily forget his vows? “I know my duty,” he said testily.

Leaning forward, she took his hand from his lap and squeezed it. “You’ve always been loyal to me, Erik, and I’ve never doubted your commitment. I only worry that your mind isn’t here. We need you _present_ , Erik. Not elsewhere.”

“I said it wouldn’t happen again, and it won’t,” Erik told her firmly.

She held his gaze for a long moment. Whatever she saw there must have convinced her because she nodded and leaned back in her chair. “Alright. I believe you.”

A loud _crack_ echoed through the room as one of the logs in the hearth split in two. Fire rushed up around the break, licking greedily at the newly exposed wood. It reminded Erik of Charles. Every fire reminded him of Charles these days, no matter how small.

They had only been lovers for five days and they had only been apart now for three, but Erik missed him beyond belief. Suddenly overwhelmingly tired, he scrubbed a hand over his face and said, “It’s been a long day. May I be dismissed?”

Peggy nodded. “Of course. We have another long day ahead of us tomorrow. Get some sleep.”

Erik stood, dipped into a perfunctory bow, and swept out the door. His assigned room wasn’t far, only a short walk down the hall. Once he was inside, he shed his coat and bent to stir the smoldering ashes in the hearth back to life. After a few minutes, the fire began to crack and snarl, flames gnawing hungrily on the wood Erik fed it. It was a comforting sound.

He pulled off his boots and trousers and crawled into bed. For a long while, he simply watched the shadows of the fire dance on the low stone ceiling above him, keeping his mind purposefully blank. But eventually thoughts of Charles intruded, as they always did. What was he doing? Was he thinking of Erik, too?

Did he feel like a pathetic, love-struck fool as much as Erik did?

Sighing, he turned over and buried his face in his pillow. The dragon scale in his shirt burned against his chest like a brand. Like Charles’s hand, pressed against his heart.

He fell asleep.

*

The human world, Charles decided, was a very peculiar place.

He had realized, of course, that the world he had read about in his books probably bore little resemblance to reality, but even so, on the first morning he spent on the mainland, he found himself more than a little overwhelmed.

It was much louder than he’d expected. As soon as the sun rose, so did the town, and within the hour, the streets were filled with noise: wagons clattering and creaking by, horses nickering as they were hitched and unhitched, dogs barking as they roughhoused on the sides of roads, metalwork clanking, laundry water slopping against the dirt of alleys, and above all that, the steady chorus of human voices, shouting and murmuring and laughing and growling. Evidently humans were determined to make as much of a din as possible while going about their business.

It was all very strange and unfamiliar. Dragons were naturally quiet creatures; more often than not, they were solitary, and even when they gathered, they preferred silence to conversation. Charles was an outlier — he was sociable at heart and too much silence made him antsy. But _this_ much noise was disorienting.

He watched the commotion from the tiny window of his room, both fascinated and unnerved. This was his first real look at human society up close, and the scholarly part of him wanted to just sit here and observe them all day, to watch them and learn everything he could. But at the same time, all the clamor made him want to curl up in the corner of the room where it was dark and cover his head with the pillow.

There was no time for that though. The longer he lingered here, the greater the distance between him and Erik would become. Already Charles could feel the trail weakening. If Erik got any further away, Charles might not be able to track him at all.

Reluctantly, he pulled himself away from the window and crossed over to the small washbasin that sat in the corner by the door. Peering into the small, burnished mirror above it, he studied his disguise critically. No, not his disguise, his _appearance_. This was his face now: pale, smooth cheeks without any hint of scales, wide ears rounded at the tips, odd, human-like eyes that made him uncomfortable whenever he stared too long at his reflection. The serum had done its work.

Still, he didn’t look _quite_ human. The curve of his jaw was a bit too angular, his eyes too strikingly blue, his teeth slightly too sharp when he smiled. But much to his relief, he had passed his first major test last night — when he’d come through the door, the innkeeper had given him half a look and merely asked what he wanted: a drink, a meal, or a room, or all three? Then, when Charles had brought out a silver coin to pay him, he’d straightened and given Charles a longer look. Nervously, Charles had stood still under the man’s scrutiny, wondering if the innkeeper noticed anything strange about his face, wondering if he’d gotten something wrong. Theoretically he knew what sort of currency carried weight here in Genosha, but he could only guess at how much everything was worth. If he’d drastically undershot, or overshot…

At last, the innkeeper had grunted and said, not unkindly, “You’ll be wanting to buy my whole inn with that, will you? You got any coppers on you, lad?”

Charles had flushed and dug out one of the few copper coins he’d packed (he didn’t like how they felt or looked; they were ragged at the edges and ugly, in his opinion), hoping it would be enough. The innkeeper had given him another curious look, then motioned him behind the bar to retrieve a room key.

Now he would have to hope that his new appearance would hold up against scrutiny in daylight. The true test.

When he came downstairs, the inn’s front room was packed for breakfast. Though Fairpoint was relatively small, it had a fair number of tourists throughout the year, what with its prime location on the coast. Charles wasn’t the only one there who looked foreign, and few people gave him a second look as he slipped through the crowd.

“Morning, lad,” said the innkeeper as Charles approached. He was wiping down the bar but paused when Charles came near. “You want breakfast? For two copper bits, you can have a bowl of soup and a cut of bread.”

Now that Charles thought about it, he _was_ hungry. Normally he didn’t spend quite so much time in human form, so he was less cognizant of its needs. In winter, dragons fed once every three or four days. Humans, as Charles knew from observing Erik, needed to eat several times a day.

“That sounds lovely,” he said, smiling.

“Take a seat,” the innkeeper said, thumping the bar. “I’ll have Jone bring you out a tray. You want an ale?”

“Yes, please.”

Charles slid onto the nearest barstool, took out his purse, and picked out three copper bits. Even though they were hardly the most treasured pieces of his hoard, he still had some difficulty pushing them across the bar. All dragons had trouble letting go of their possessions, even things they didn’t quite care for. When the innkeeper reached for the coins, Charles had to avert his gaze to keep from snatching them back with a snarl.

“Allon!” called someone further down the bar.

The innkeeper thumped his hand down again and said, “Be right back.”

As he attended to the other customer, Charles closed his eyes and focused on keeping his thoughts shielded. The sheer number of minds clustered in this town made his head buzz. He’d never been around this many people before. Their thoughts swarmed distractingly against his own, the way bluethroat birds swarmed against a dragon in hunt in hopes of scavenging dinner.

How much worse would it be if the serum weren’t dampening his gift? Charles shuddered to imagine it. Perhaps it was a good thing after all that he could only touch the minds around him with difficulty. Though it was strange to feel the world so muffled, at least the serum would keep him from getting overloaded with sensation and noise.

“You alright, lad?”

Charles pried his eyes back open to find Allon setting a mug down in front of him. “Er, yes. Fine.” When the innkeeper continued to regard him skeptically, Charles made a vague gesture at his head and muttered, “Headache.”

“Ah.” Now Allon leaned back and pointed at the ale. “Drink. It’ll be good for you.”

Erik had brought wine to the cave before. It had been sweet and dark and tasted like berries bursting across Charles’s tongue, fizzing against the back of his throat. Charles knew ale wasn’t quite the same thing, but it had the same sort of color and humans seemed to drink it regularly in place of water. Surely it had to be pleasant.

It wasn’t. Eyebrows lifting, Allon laughed at the disgusted expression on Charles’s face and said, “What? You never had an ale before, boy?”

Eyes watering, Charles forced a weak smile. “No, I just — I suppose I’m not used to the taste.”

Allon leaned against the bar, his eyes inquisitive. “Look now, I don’t often pry into other people’s business — I’m a private kind of man myself, you understand. But I have to admit, I’m curious. Where are you from, lad?”

Charles froze. His mind raced, trying to dredge up the name of some obscure city, of some state. He couldn’t say he came from the area — he looked too foreign, too unusual, and he knew his accent wasn’t perfect. But what could he say that would be believable?

How had he come all this way and not prepared an answer for such a simple question?

He must have looked so stricken that the innkeeper took pity on him. “I see,” he said gently. “I’ve seen your type before. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone I’ve seen you.”

Charles swallowed back the panic that shot up in his throat. Of course he didn’t mean dragons. He _couldn’t_ mean dragons, could he? Hearts pounding, he ran a gentle touch over the innkeeper’s mind, ready to nudge his attention away, to make him forget Charles had ever been here.

“I don’t… _partake_ in those sorts of things, you know,” Allon continued. Behind his thick gray beard, his cheeks flushed red. “And I don’t think it’s right.”

“Oh,” Charles said slowly. He had no idea what Allon was talking about, but he was fairly sure now that the man had no idea what he really was.

The innkeeper gave him another long, sympathetic look and then said, “I tell you what.” He pushed Charles’s copper bits back across the bar. “Breakfast will be my treat. You’re going to need that where you’re going.”

Completely confused, Charles took the bits back and slipped them back into his purse. “Where I’m going?”

“The ships, right? To Esbor?”

Esbor — Charles remembered the name from one of his geography books. It was a southern land, across the sea. He could name its borders, its queen, its major trading partners, its biggest exports, and half a dozen other facts, but he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why the innkeeper believed that was where Charles was heading.

“I’m headed north actually,” Charles told him after a moment. If Allon felt so sorry for him, perhaps he’d be inclined to help. “To the mountains. I was wondering where I might find a horse to take me there?”

“North?” Allon’s dark brow furrowed in surprise. “Why would you be heading up there?”

“I…” After a few seconds of deliberation, Charles said carefully, “I’m looking for a friend of mine.” 

Allon shook his head. “It’s not a good idea, going north. Not in times like these.”

“Because of the war,” Charles supplied, hoping it would prompt him to say more.

“Because of the war,” Allon agreed. He fetched a cloth and began to wipe down the empty tankards behind the bar, his expression troubled. “We’ve been hearing nothing but bad news from the north. Some say that by summer, we’ll all be speaking Halleferian.”

“It’s that bad?” Charles asked, alarmed. From everything Erik had told him, he had figured that the Genoshans could hold out for at least a year, perhaps two. But if they were expecting to be overtaken in hardly half a year, then what hope was there?

Allon nodded grimly. “They say Shaw leads an army a hundred thousand strong. They say that every battalion is led by a soldier with a talent.”

It took Charles a moment to remember that _talented_ was how humans described those among them with powers. Dragons called them _ansbluden_ — those with dragon blood in them, those whose ancestries traced back centuries to when dragons and humans walked the same lands. Their powers were seldom as powerful as a true dragon’s gifts, diluted as the blood was, but some were forces to reckon with.

Shaw himself was an _ansblud_. Charles didn’t know what powers he possessed, but from what he had heard from Erik, they were formidable. 

A young serving girl arrived to place a steaming bowl of soup in front of Charles. Glancing between the two of them, she asked lightly, “Allon, are you bothering our guests with talk of war again?” 

“He wanted to hear it,” Allon protested.

“Oh psh. No one wants to hear about such dreary nonsense.”

Charles cocked his head at her. “You don’t think there will be a war?”

“Jone thinks she’s too sensible for this sort of talk,” Allon muttered.

The serving girl swatted at his arm. “I _am_ too sensible for that sort of talk. There’s been rumors of war for years, and it never comes to anything.”

Allon scrubbed at a mark on the bar, clearly agitated. “But you’ve heard of soldiers riding north to answer the queen’s summons. The lords are riding, too.”

“I’ve _heard_ of it, yeah,” replied Jone coolly. “Seen it? Nah. I don’t believe there’ll be war, and even if there is, how’s it going to touch us, so far down south as we are?”

“You’ll be singing a different tune when the Halleferians ride into that pretty little garden of yours,” Allon warned, shaking his finger at her. “You’re young yet — you think nothing could possibly touch you. But you’re wrong.”

“And you’re an old pessimist,” Jone answered smartly. Turning to Charles, she said, “I’ll be back with your bread in a moment. Don’t let Allon fill your head with too much gossip, you hear?”

The innkeeper shook his head in quiet exasperation as she disappeared into the back. “She’s young. Too young to remember any wars.” He gave Charles a pointed look. “As young as you, I’d say. Perhaps you believe as she does — that the war isn’t as serious as they say. But I’d listen to your elders if I were you. Only a fool would ride north.”

Part of Charles was amused that he was being lectured about youthful foolishness by a man probably a hundred or more years younger than he was. But Allon was right — only a fool would ride north right now, straight into war. That was the way of soldiers and generals, not of unarmed travelers.

As Allon took in Charles’s expression, his tone gentled. “It may be hard to hear this, lad, but if you have friends in the mountains, the most you can do for them now is pray. Pray and go south, where a boy like you — ” Here, he gave Charles another pointed look, one Charles didn’t understand. “ — will be safe.”

Well, Charles thought, there’s no chance of that.

“I’m going north,” he said firmly.

Their eyes caught and held. For the space of several breaths, Allon simply stared at him, bushy brows furrowed, as if he hoped that the force of his gaze would shake Charles’s determination. But Charles simply returned his stare placidly. He’d already made up his mind, and he was not going to be dissuaded, not even by a well-intentioned innkeeper.

Finally, Allon sighed and struck his fist gently against the bartop, his eyes lifting away. “Eat your soup, boy. You’re going to need it if you’re set on going north.”

Charles picked up the spoon obediently and peered down into the bowl. For human food — usually too full of greenery for Charles’s taste — it smelled surprisingly appetizing. Meaty. His stomach growled.

“How can I get a horse?” he asked as he stirred the broth.

Allon snorted and shook his head. Then, when he realized Charles was serious, he gave a sharp, throaty laugh. “A horse? You can’t afford a horse, lad.”

“But if I could, where would I get one?”

“You’d go see if the stablemaster has some to sell. But you won’t be wanting to try that. Too expensive.”

“I have money.”

Allon lifted an eyebrow. Amusement flared across his mind, bright but gentle. _Kids,_ he thought with no little fondness. _Fools._ “Oh you do, do you? Do you also know how much it costs to feed a horse? To stable one?”

“Well...”

“They have a saying, you know. A horse ain’t a — ” Cheeks flushing red again, he coughed and averted his eyes. “ _I_ don’t say this, you understand. But people do. They say a horse ain’t a whore. You can’t use one when you need it and forget about it when you don’t.” He darted a furtive glance up at Charles’s face. “That’s crude. I shouldn’t have said that.”

Charles wasn’t sure which part of that was supposedly crude. Perhaps the part about the whore. Humans could be quite peculiar about sex. Though perhaps it wasn’t about sex at all — _whore,_ as Charles had read in his books, was at times a neutral descriptor, at times derogatory. He didn’t quite understand the insult, but, well, there were many things about the human world that he didn’t understand.

Giving Allon what he hoped was a reassuring smile, he said, “That’s alright, I don’t mind. But if I don’t get a horse, how will I go north? It’s a long way, from what I understand, and I need to be there very soon.”

“If you’ll be wanting to find your friend before the war starts, you do,” Allon agreed. He shook his grizzled head. “I still think it’s a bad idea, going north, but if your heart’s set, it’s set. It’ll be cheaper and easier for you in the long run if you catch a caravan going north instead of trying to find a horse. The market’s opening up within the hour. Go there. If you’re lucky, you might find a merchant wagon or two headed in your direction.”

A caravan. That sounded promising. “How long do you think the journey will be?” Charles asked. “Three days?” That was his best estimation of the distance from what he remembered from one of his cartography books.

“Depends on how far you’re going. Three days in a caravan will take you close to Outermark, probably. You know where that is?” 

Charles’s hearts leaped in his chest. Outermark was where the queen’s forces were mustering. Where Erik was.

“Yes,” he said eagerly, slightly breathless. “That’s where I’m going.”

Now Allon’s eyebrow rose nearly to his hairline. “You’re headed straight for the war, boy. Going north is foolhardy enough, but going straight to where the queen’s army is gathering? That’s beyond foolishness. That’s idiocy, and it’ll get you killed.”

“I dearly hope not,” Charles replied solemnly.

Allon growled low in displeasure. “Well then. Don’t say I didn’t try to warn you. If you’re really set on being a fool, I’d go out to the market when it opens. Try your luck with any wagon heading north.” 

Charles smiled. “Thank you.”

Before long, the innkeeper was called away to other duties, leaving Charles to finish his soup and the bread that Jone brought him. It was a surprisingly filling meal, hot and delicious. When he finished, he motioned to catch Allon’s eye, then set a silver coin on the bartop. He waited just long enough to make sure the innkeeper had seen it before slipping off through the crowd.

The day outside was colder than Charles liked. Even here on the southern coast, winter was on its way. The sharp wind that whistled down the street felt particularly cutting against Charles’s sensitive human skin, unprotected by scales. Wishing he’d thought to wear more insulated clothes, he tugged his cloak more tightly around his shoulders and gazed up into the darkening sky.

North. North to Erik, and to war. His chest tightened with excitement and fear, like the first time he had ever flown. Hardly six weeks hatched, he had stared down the dizzyingly high cliffside and fluttered his paper-thin wings, terrified and exhilarated all at once. The wind had poured over him, threatening to rip him off the rock before he was ready. Fighting it, he had clung on for an eternity, too afraid to let go but desperately wanting his mother to be proud of him.

In the end, he had leaped. And now here he was, poised on the edge of the cliff again. There would be no one to catch him if he fell.

This time, he hesitated only a moment before taking the plunge.


End file.
